


è tutto a posto (it’s all right)

by itsmesophie



Category: Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, also i posted it yesterday and deleted it unintentionally, also i wanted this to be different but i just ??????, and also i guess there’s a lot of, and basically me trying to write stuff, and this happened, and what was i going to do?, anyway this is a lot of character study, asdfghjk im sorry i can’t use ao3, basically them being loud but without being loud, but i just had the idea, couldn't ?????, dont write it? Of course not, like they talk a lot and they don’t say a lot, look i wrote this for myself but i hope you like it as well, this is basically so random, thoughts, you gotta give me credits tho i wrote this before christmas eve's dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmesophie/pseuds/itsmesophie
Summary: "Would you pay?" he asks him, so unexpectedly that Leonardo is shocked by the unexpectant question he's just been asked —and not precisely because of the question itself, but because of how out of place it sounds... especially coming from Primo."What?" is all he can ask in return."It's a simple question," Primo tells him, almost with a dismissive tone, and even if he suddenly looks annoyed, he turns to him, "would you?"In which basically I get to explore a bit a few ideas I had when I rewatched episode 8 a few days ago, and can't get out of my mind (alternately: it’s christmas and i armed myself with the courage to publish this)
Relationships: Leonardo & Primo Nizzuto, Leonardo/Primo Nizzuto
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	è tutto a posto (it’s all right)

They didn’t pay. This time was supposed to be the time —they were _supposed_ to do so, but suppositions never worked out the way they were, well, _supposed to_ , Primo knew better than that. 

They didn’t pay, which meant something else was going to happen, something Primo couldn’t quite figure out yet... something _had_ to happen, that’s for sure. What kind of man was he if he wasn’t going to make something happen? What kind of person was he, what kind of— of head of that entire endeavor was he, if he was going to let things happen just like that, and do not respond? The Gettys didn’t pay, old man Getty didn’t pay, so what? He had to react. He had to rise up, he had to do something, anything... he just had to. And keeping the boy captive wasn’t all he could do, he knew that for sure. He had done it before, hadn’t he? And what use had he found in that? None, none at all. And, on top of everything else, the boy had ran away. And yes, he was back now, he had him where he was supposed to have him, but what next? Another day, another offer? Primo didn’t know, Primo couldn’t know —after all, all this ransom thing was being much more difficult than what he was expecting it to be, and enough trouble it had caused him already. 

Truth is, Getty boy or not, Primo had plans, plans he had been wanting to accomplish since way too many years back. Big plans, silent plans, plans that were accompanied by much silenter expectations. Primo was a dreamer, he always had been. He dreamt of big things, things as big as his plans— if not bigger. 

His first dream had been to run away.

When he was a child, just a kid, younger than the Getty boy was, and even younger than Francesco, he had dreamt of getting out of there —there meaning not only his house, but the village as well. Damn, he had even dreamt of getting out of the entire region. All he wanted was to get out, so far away his so-called family couldn’t find him. He had even plotted a few escape plans, so carefully crafted that he could’ve succeeded if he had tried... but that was before Salvatore got to be his guardian, his carer (and carer was just a terminology, since he never exactly cared for or of him, to be fair...). Once Salvatore had taken control over his life, his decisions, and, presumably, his future, things had drastically changed for him. He had now this much more authoritarian figure looking over his shoulder, deciding what he was going to do and how... and Primo, when he was just a boy, had resigned to it —or at least a part of him had. 

A part of him had realized he was better off doing what Salvatore said —and was due to the fact he, on one side, didn’t want to face the consequences of his actions. He had tried to run away from the house once, and the results had left him in bed for a week. He had sprained his ankle trying to run down a hill, and if that wasn’t enough, once he got back home (and he could barely make it, considering how much his foot hurt), Salvatore gave him a slap he never forgot. 

From then on, he never tried to run away again. Instead, he contented himself with dreaming of doing it someday, sometime, in a distant future, in a distant life. He dreamt of a future he couldn’t yet seem to see close, a future he couldn’t grasp but he could sense, he could see, so clearly and vividly that it used to keep him up at night, as he planned and plotted what was he going to do in that future, in that time. 

As a boy, he had only ran away from Salvatore’s house that one time... but then there had been other times, times he had left the house in the middle of a discussion, a potential fight, a fight that was no more, and had left to walk through the village. He had a spot, one that was only his, in which he used to spend the nights alone, wishing, wondering, and hoping. The sour taste of the impossibility to see his dreams accomplished for the moment kept him, surprisingly, not disappointed at all —on the contrary, it left him expectant, even ambitious. 

He wanted to change his life. Hell, he was going to change his life, his future. Was it a rebel attitude, to wish for these things? He could never quite place that thought in his head. Yet, it never abandoned it, even when he became a teenager, even when he became an adult. Yes, he was quite a rebel, he had his things, his issues, as Salvatore used to call them... but for him, they were only dreams. 

As years went by, Primo began to dream bigger. He would shut up and listen, pay attention... there were times in which he had expected Salvatore to just... mentor him, even if he hated his guts. To state something to him, something like he was going to be his successor, something like he was going to take over the family business. He hated Salvatore no matter what, but the fact he seemed to overlook him (and his capacities, innovation, plans for the future of the village, his own future...) made him hate him even more. His dreams began to be much more different as years went by —he didn’t dream of running away no more, but of changing things. He had so many plans, so many ambitions, views, ideas yet to be fulfilled... and for it to happen, it would’ve only taken a few minutes of Salvatore to listen to him. But the man, the crooked, wicked man Salvatore was, never seemed to care for Primo’s opinion. And so, Primo had stopped pretending he cared for his opinion, too. He wasn’t the heir Salvatore had wanted to have, the one he had wanted him to be... maybe at one time it would’ve mattered, it could’ve matter... But it didn’t matter. Not now, not to him. 

Francesco was there now, in the picture. He had been for the past years. He was Leonardonardo’s son, a young boy, even younger than the Getty boy was. And yet, Salvatore seemed to have something with him. Primo had always been sure Salvatore was waiting for the right time to start mentoring the boy, to start giving him a few advices here and there, to start making him listen... and to start making him do. That was supposed to be his place, he had always thought —Francesco’s place. Hell, Primo was Salvatore’s nephew, he wasn’t some random boy, son of some random accountant, some random village man, someone who wasn’t family... or that’s what he wanted to believe, or he had wanted to believe, on occasions.

Nevertheless, Primo knew better than that. Leonardo wasn’t some random man, not to Salvatore, and especially not to him. Francesco wasn’t some random boy either, and even if the both of them —and even Regina— weren’t, technically, family... and yet...

Maybe Salvatore wanted to fix the mistakes he had made with Primo with that boy. Maybe he wanted to mentor Francesco in a way he could never mentor Primo, or a son of his own. 

He had his reasons, Primo never doubted that. And yet, at this stage, he couldn’t care less. He didn’t mind, not at all. Francesco could take Salvatore’s place in a few years for all that mattered to him. He could grow to become the Don, the man of the village, the figure of it... he was a nice boy, even a goodhearted one... Primo liked to believe he didn’t care for that, and he usually didn’t; for all he cared about, he could become Salvatore’s apprentice, his pet, his son, whatever... 

And yet maybe, just maybe, a part of him —that part that was always silent, that part of him that wasn’t ever shown, that part of him he had been taught to keep quiet—, wished for that boy to not be corrupted by that cunning old man. He couldn’t care less about Francesco, at least at that moment, but yet... he wished for that when it came to Salvatore. After all, it was the least he could to. 

Yet, there were more important issues in his mind at the moment —the most urgent one being the Getty boy.

They didn’t pay. That was all that mattered to him. And that was all that mattered to Salvatore, too. 

And that’s what he feared as well. Because Salvatore didn’t exactly know that. As far as the old man was concerned, the Gettys had paid, Mister Getty, old man Getty had paid, and for both Primo and Leonardonardo‘s sake, he had to still believe in that. The entire village believed in that... they all knew, or actually, thought, they had paid. They thought it was the beginning of something new, and of course it wasn’t, but... Primo needed time to think. Besides, he didn’t want Salvatore in his business. He didn’t want him in the middle of this, he wanted to do his own thing... well, his own thing, but not on his own. 

And that’s where Leonardo enters.

**

Leonardo is waiting for him at the side of the road, near where Primo has left the car, which is away from the cave but not that far from it. He has a strange look on his face, one that mixes preoccupation with disgust, one that mixes fear with anxiety. His arms are crossed on his chest, and his eyes fixed on the road that lies ahead, the same road they used to get there, and the same one they’ll use to get back home... and they better hurry, judging by the time it is, since they've got to be there for Francesco's Confirmation very soon.   
  
As if it were a matter of coincidence, or maybe telepathy, the second Leonardo starts worrying he's not gonna make it to his own son's celebration, he spots Primo walking towards him, his hair blowing because of the wind, a cigarette in his mouth, and a look that's quite the opposite to joy on his face. He looks like he's about to murder someone —that and a mixture between tiredness and an almost indistintive indignation. Leonardo had gotten out of the cave first, partially because he needed some fresh air (the day he had ahead of him made him nervous enough, so he didn't really need the Getty situation on top of it), and partially because there was something about that whole thing that had started to make his stomach twist.   
  
The amount of things even worse he had done in the course of his life were countless, and even disreputable, and yet, this particular thing felt even worse than all of that combined. To think that only yesterday that boy was going to go home... and to think that, only some time before that, Primo had been extremely close to blowing his brains out... The number of things that had occured in only a relatively short period of time were... well, almost unimaginable. And it wasn't nearly close to being over...  
  
Primo approaches him, and Leonardo lights a cigarette in the meantime.   
  
" _Andiamo_ ," Primo tells him, as he walks past him, walking straight towards the car.   
  
Leonardo waits for a couple of seconds... and then, he follows him. They get to the car, they get inside it, and they leave.   
  
"I assume you didn't do anything we'll both regret, did you?" Leonardo asks him, when about a minute of silence has passed, a strange silence that's filled with a great number of questions —and, even if none of them is willing to admit it, at least not out loud or to each other, filled with some agitation as well, some dread, even. The uncertainty of the future that lies ahead for the both of them makes them uneasy, but they'd be fools if they admitted it to each other... although, one thing they know for sure, however, is that they won't admit it to Salvatore.   
  
"So little faith you've got in me, huh?" Primo answers, eyes fixed on the road.   
  
"I don't know if you remember, but you almost blew the kid's brains out the other day, without apparently caring about the consequences..." it's Leonardo's turn to look at him, still smoking, and tilting his head a little, "so I'd say... depending on the situation." Primo cracks a smile, a fake and almost insignificant one, but a smile nevertheless. He doesn't find the situation amusing at all, and Leonardo knows it, but he still has the decency to just... smile, no matter how fake it seems like.   
  
"I almost did that..." he says, with no emotion audible in his voice. And suddenly, he's all serious again. No fake smile, no traces of anything else... there's nothing. Just a pair of empty eyes, staring at an empty road.   
  
"So, we'll do as we said, all right?" Leonardo allows himself to say, after another number of seconds of uncomfortable silence have passed, "we won't say a word of this, and we'll let everyone believe what they are already believing..."  
  
"...that our pockets are already full of gold, yes... I understood it the first time around," Primo says, looking back at him for a few seconds. Leonardo stares at him, looking at the other man in the eyes, but it's no long before he remembers Primo is, in fact, driving a car... and he's on the passenger's seat, by the way.   
  
"Just... look at the road," Leonardo urges him, pointing his hand at the road ahead. Primo stares at him for a couple of seconds more; it's not much, and it's even an insignificant amount of time considering the seconds he already spent, but still, for some reason, it seems as if an eternity has passed before both his eyes are fixed on the road again, this time, with a pair of sunglasses covering them.   
  
Silence fills the car again, and so it fills the situation they're both taking part in, as well as all the things they have just said —and the ones they haven't had the chance to, yet.   
  
"He'll find out, sooner or later," Primo says, shaping his words in the form of a mumble, "but by that time—" he doesn't say anything else. Leonardo, who has just thrown the cigarette out of the car via its window, turns once again towards the younger man, eyebrows raised and a look on his face that screams utter confusion. He wants to ask him what is he talking about, who is he talking about... but he knows better than that. He's known Primo practically all of his life and, even worse, he's been around him for the past weeks... listening to whatever he had to say regarding not only the Getty boy, but all of the plans that had any sort of relationship to it... and all of the people.   
  
Still, he doesn't fail to ask him some more.   
  
"What do you mean by that?" but Primo only answers with a simple,  
  
"Oh... you know already," and even if that should be the end of it, it isn't.   
  
"No, I don't know, I don't fucking know," Leonardo complains, sounding even angry, "but if this is one of those conversations again, I swear I meant it before and I mean it now when I say I'd be more than pleased to visit—"  
  
"My big balls when they're nailed on Salvatore's wall, yes, I heard you the first time, once again..." Primo interrupts him, more serious than ever. "But you see, mister accountant..." he doesn't say anything.   
  
Instead, he makes a maneuver that's so unexpected that Leonardo has to restrain himself in order not to scream some insult at him. Primo places the car at a side of the road, so abruptly and so unexpectedly that even the brakes have a short time to react, making the car stop almost as abruptly as the past maneuver had been.   
  
Before saying another word, Primo turns at him, and Leonardo fears he'll kick him out of the car, of all things. He doesn't know why, but that one's the first that comes into his mind. He fears he'll open the door for him (or maybe not even that) and will just push him outside, so he'll have to walk home and... it's not a long road, but it wouldn't be nice.  
  
And yet, instead, Primo just stares. He takes his sunglasses off, and looks at him, again, with not a single emotion being displayed on his blue eyes, and neither on his pale face.   
  
"We better work together on this one... after all, we're already in this together... we better stay that way..." he doesn't say it menacing, and it doesn't even sound that way (because Primo has the power to make things just sound that way, even if that wasn't the initial course or intention of the conversation), "then we'll see... But for now, let's enjoy your kid's day, huh? Let's... stick together, we work well that way, don't we?" Leonardo laughs, half because of the nerves and half because of the amusing situation he's gotten himself into.   
  
"Sounds like a plan to me," it's all that he says, even when he actually means sounds like what I've been telling you in the first place.   
  
"Good." Primo says, and when Leonardo believes he's going to turn on the car and drive again (because they're almost at the end of the short trip, and he needs to go home and get ready for the big day that's ahead), he finds Primo with the most unusual look he's ever seen his face pull. Both pale blue eyes are fixed on the steering wheel, but the everything on his expression seems to make it look like he's drifting somewhere else, somewhere inside his mind, his thoughts and, to be even more daring, his memories. He looks, in fact, more thoughtful than he has ever looked, and Leonardo wonders if it's something he said or, simply, something that crossed his mind by chance.   
  
Luckily, he doesn't have to wonder much longer.   
  
"Would _you_ pay?" he asks him, so unexpectedly that Leonardo is shocked by the question he's just been asked —and not precisely because of the question itself, but because of how out of place it sounds... especially coming from Primo.  
  
"What?" is all he can ask in return.   
  
"It's a simple question," Primo tells him, almost with a dismissive tone, and even if he suddenly looks annoyed, he turns to him, "would you?"  
  
"You mean, if someone took Francesco?" Primo shrugs, not giving him a full answer but, somehow, giving him the one he needs. "I'd pay everything I have, and even everything I don't have," is Leonardo's answer, and even if he can't see it in his face, he understands that Primo does, in fact, understand.   
  
"Do you think your father would've paid for you?" Primo asks, before Leonardo can insist on turning the car on again and taking him home. And he thinks about this newer, even deeper question. Would his father have done that? He had never thought of that, to be honest, but there wasn't much to think about, after all... the man wasn't like Getty, he didn't have any money, he didn't have much... but still, if he had... Leonardo could bet his life on many things, but he certainly couldn't bet on the fact he would've paid. "Neither do I," he hears Primo say, and his voice sounds so distant, that for a moment, he feels like he was dreaming and is, slowly, being brought back to reality. And he knows what Primo means by that.  
  
He means "neither do I think your father would've paid", but that also means "neither do I think mine would've". Leonardo didn't like Primo's father at all, even if he had barely known him, and that even made him prefer his own one over his... and both of them over Salvatore, that's for sure. Because Salvatore... Well, it's a spoken thing that they've both left hanging in the air at that same moment, but he wouldn't would've paid for Primo... he wouldn't do anything for Primo... no wonder he hated him so much.   
  
"I almost—" Primo adds, once again snapping Laonardo out of his thoughts, and although it’s not a complete sentence, Leonardo can feel what’s coming next, once again. He stares, then, at Primo’s lips, as he waits for the next sentence to form on them. "I almost shot that bastard kid and they still won't pay... how fucked up, huh? How fucked up..."   
  
Before Leonardo can reflect on any of what he's just heard, Primo turns on the car and drives again, that same look in his eyes again. And now, Leonardo can somehow seem to place whatever it is that's so strange and so particular about it. It isn't the pale blue on his eyes, that look colder than ever, or the fact his expression seems to be made of steel—because right now, it seems to be made of porcelain. It seems so fragile, so unexpectedly fragile, that it makes Leonardo frown. And it isn't his style, or _their_ style, but he feels the urgence of reach out to him and ask what's wrong.  
  
But he won't do it.   
  
There's no place for that, not now not ever, but he wonders, he imagines, that maybe, just maybe, it could be. Someday, some time... it just could.   
  
They reach Leonardo's house after some minutes —this time in total silence—, and when Primo stops the car he looks back at him for the first time since he started driving again.   
  
"All right then," Leonardo says, "see you soon." He's expecting Primo to say something, anything... but he doesn't. He just nods, looking down at the wheel again. Leonardo then nods (not because he needs to, but because he doesn't quite know what else to do), and puts his hand on the handle in order to open the door, step out, explain his family he's back and nothing really happened out there (a lie he'll probably just clear with Regina later), and to ask them to get ready if they haven't... but a voice stops him.   
  
"Of course I remember, you know I do," is what the voice says. Primo is holding his sunglasses, his eyes shining bright as the sunlight reflects on them, and his hair being softly blown back because of the breeze. 

Before Leonardo can ask him what he is talking about, he says something else.

"I remember it perfectly, it didn't happen that long ago... " he adds, and even if, by now, Leonardo can recall what he means by this, he says no word. He just listens. "I would've done it if you hadn't talked me out of it... I would've done it even if I had regretted it later," he adds, a hand over his hair now. "I would've done it, if you had stepped two seconds later I swear I would've—" he says no more. 

Leonardo has been taken by surprise, that's for sure. He doesn't quite know how to react, what to say, what he should say, what he shouldn't... and nothing comes to mind. Nothing, not a single thing. 

"What do you think you'd do, if you were born like them? With all that money, with a silver spoon in your mouth? If you had all that?" The question, or questions, more like it, once again, take Leonardo by surprise, but not as much as the sudden change of theme does. He opens his mouth, and even if he wants to say something, he can't. There’s nothing he can say that could be considered a good answer, except for one thing, one thing he won’t say. He won’t say he would buy a big, nice house, with a big garden, and a big, nice car. He won’t say he’d buy Regina beautiful clothes, and that he would send Francesco to the best university. He won’t say all that, partially because he doesn’t want to, and partially because he doubts it would be true —after all, if he were a man like the Gettys, a rich man, would he have met Regina? Would Francesco still be his son? Would he have met Primo, of all people? Salvatore’s nephew, Primo who would run away from home in the worst of days and nights? Primo who he would find in a determinate spot of the village every single time something was wrong? That same Primo who was now making all this plan to make a fortune and be rich? The both of them? He didn’t know many things —and he certainly didn’t want to know this one. So instead, he answers a simple, 

"I wouldn't know," and that's all he can say. 

And he exits the car. 

"Be ready in an hour, you don’t wanna be late," it's all he says to Primo, before starting to walk towards his house, where he's more than sure Regina is waiting, both arms crossed over her chest and an explanation ready to be given (and who can blame her, though...).

He hears Primo's car getting started, but before he can hear him drive away, he hears something else, one last thing. 

"Oii!" the other man says, calling him. Leonardo just turns to him, tired. 

Primo has a smile on his face, a mischievous smile that, for once in all that day, has appeared. He's not smiling at Leonardo, though, but at the remark he's about to make. 

"Soon you will." 

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know what this is, okay? i have no idea at all, i just needed to write it because it's been on my mind for weeks. anyway, merry christmas people! 
> 
> [let's chat on tumblr!](https://ilivejustinmyownworld.tumblr.com/)


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